


Mistake #6: Alternate Version

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 09:03:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The original version featured Mulder/Krycek. Here's a version starring Walter Skinner.





	Mistake #6: Alternate Version

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Mistake #6 - Alternative Version by unChuck

27 Nov 98  
TITLE: Mistake #6 - Alternative Version  
AUTHOR: unChuck ()  
DATE: 10/31/98   
DISTRIBUTION: Not without author's permission  
SUMMARY: The original version featured M/K Here's a version starring Walter Skinner.  
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and these characters are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox. No copyright infringement is intended.  
NOTES: Angst set to maximum.

* * *

He knew it was a mistake. He shouldn't pick it up. There were some things you just knew from experience, and experience was telling him not to do it. He looked at his watch; it read 10:13 p.m. It was a thing, an object, it deserved none of his attention, none of his time. And yet here he was, sitting there, staring at it, debating. Admitting defeat, he picked it up.

"Skinner here."

"Is this Mr. Walter Skinner?"

"Yes." He could already tell from the unfamiliar voice at the other end of the phone that this was going to be bad news.

"This is Doctor Jacobs from D.C. General."

Very bad news.

Mulder had disappeared less than 48 hours earlier, saying something about disemboweled bovines in Bismark, South Dakota. With Mulder gone he had hoped for a little peace and quiet, a little calm before the returning storm that would be Fox Mulder: Alien Hunter. But now with this phone call, he feared his little vacation to normalcy would be ruined.

"We've been asked to contact you by a patient. He was brought in on emergency and has asked that you come down to the hospital."

"I see." His heart sank further into his stomach. Could Mulder have somehow come back to D.C. and gotten himself into trouble in little more than a day? He didn't doubt it. He gritted his teeth and asked the doctor, "Who is it?"

"This is a bit awkward sir, but he's asked us not to tell you. The man has indicated that he works for you and that he trusts your judgement in this matter."

Skinner closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache, a bad one. Mulder. This had 'Mulder' written all over it.

"I can tell you that this man certainly could use a friend at this time and that this is definitely a serious situation. So, I would ask your understanding in this unique circumstance, sir."

Skinner pressed his thumbs into his temple, trying to somehow *force* the headache back into the dark corners of his brain. "Okay, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

Still wearing the finely tailored suit and tie that he had put on some fifteen hours earlier, he walked confidently through the doors of the emergency room. It was his nature to take up space, and those around the entrance cleared way for the striding, muscular form of the FBI Assistant Director. It was now second nature to him, people just tended to get out of his way and to show him a certain level of respect. This air of authority wasn't something that he put on consciously, he presumed that it was just the way he carried himself that caused people to react this way. Still, this was the last place he wanted to be at 10:30 in the evening, cleaning up after someone else's mess. Mulder's mess, no doubt. He was always cleaning up after Mulder. Maybe next time he should just slap a pair of diapers on the delinquent agent and be done with it. 

Scanning the lobby of the emergency room, he noted the usual collection of damaged and otherwise useless people that congregated in places like this. They were the nameless, faceless masses that seemed to be choking the planet, slowly cutting off his air supply. Pausing, he considered what Mulder would have made of this situation. He would surely have decided that at least three of the beings occupying this space were from another planet. He could just imagine it, Mulder, whipping out his big gun and pointing it randomly at the crowd, demanding that the aliens show themselves, just like out of Buck Rogers.

Skinner needed a vacation. Someplace far away, away from Mulder. And Mulder's messes. And his complications. Why did everything always have to be so complicated with Mulder? And why had he answered that damned phone?

He spotted the nurse that seemed to be in charge and walked directly over to her. She was an attractive woman, mid-30's, shoulder-length blonde hair framing her oval face. Eyes, blue-green. Height, um, 5' 7", maybe 5' 8". Weight, say 115 pounds. Uniform, tight. Bra size, 36D. Just the type Mulder would go for. He'd probably walk up to her and give her one of those looks, where he cocked his head, smiled coyly and gave her a little wink. The bastard. The next time Mulder tried that on him he had a mind to punch the smart-ass.

"Are you Mr. Skinner?" she asked.

"That's correct." He was always surprised at how much Mulder could get away with when it came to women. It wasn't that they swooned over him or anything, it's just that they responded to him differently. Mulder had the ability to connect with people in a different way, in a way unlike anything Skinner had noted before.

"You'll need to follow me then, he's back in the private ward."

Follow. That was one thing he had trouble doing with Mulder, he just had a tough time understanding what really drove the man. He knew Mulder's background, his troubled childhood and the haunting events that shaded his thinking, but did he really know Mulder? There was so much more to this man and yet it all seemed so unreachable, so hidden. Not unlike the secrets he kept buried deep within himself, within his own heart.

"Dr. Jacobs, this is the gentleman you called for."

Skinner approached the doctor standing in the hallway, holding a chart. This night was starting to wear on him as a feeling of exhaustion swept over his body. He was letting things get to him, he was letting Mulder get to him. Mulder. When would he ever get that man out of his mind? 

"Thank you for coming, sir."

He paused for a second. Now when was the last time he'd heard that? How long had Mulder been gone? How many days, hours had it been? Too many. Not enough.

He give the doctor a quick once-over. The man reminded him a bit of Mulder, only without the stupid-ass haircut. Jacobs was wearing glasses, the ones with thin wire frames. Mulder in glasses, now there was a thought. He looked so much more vulnerable when he wore glasses. So much more... kissable. 'Thank you for coming, sir,' the words echoed in his mind. Vulnerable Mulder, the image was irresistible.

"What can you tell me, doctor?" 

"Well, Mr. Skinner, this is a very complicated case. It may not be easy to explain."

Easy to explain. Nothing was ever easy to explain. Try explaining Fox Mulder, that's what he wanted to ask the doctor to do. Explain how someone like himself, a respected, responsible man like Walter Skinner, Assistant Director of the FBI, would allow himself to become involved with someone as unstable as Fox Mulder. Unstable, vulnerable, kissable, Fox Mulder.

This was all too complicated. Why had he answered that phone? He could be back home, in bed and asleep, blistfully unaware of the world around him. And yet here he was. He'd answered the phone. He'd reached out and taken on the responsibility.

"The patient hasn't told us much, but we have been able to deduce most of the events that lead up to the injury." 

"What exactly is the nature of the injury, doctor?"

"The patient was bitten."

Skinner paused, assuming the doctor would continue his explanation of the situation; after all, it's what people normally did. They would walk into his office, brief him thoroughly and completely and then leave. It was a nice, neat system. Except when Mulder came in; things were always more complicated when Mulder was in the equation. When the doctor seemed to hesitate, he stepped in. "Bitten?"

"By a snake."

His heart sank. This was getting wierd, like one of Mulder's infernal cases, complicated and ugly, with nary a resolution in sight. And he was going to have to live through every single painful moment of it. Great.

"A snake?"

"Well, a rattlesnake to be specific." The doctor's brow furrowed, as if he were in great pain, just attempting to explain the case. 

He hoped the story would end here, but he seriously doubted that it would be this simple. Snake bites man. Mulder seduces Skinner. End of story. Case closed. Nope. It was going to get worse. Skinner braced himself and asked the next logical question.

"Is the patient in any danger?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, sir, the injury is serious. Luckily, he came in quickly enough for us to administer the appropriate treatment. However, he's still in a great deal of pain and anguish."

He quietly nodded his head, acknowledging the doctor's words and hating himself for picking up the phone. Why had he answered it? Why had he let Mulder do this to him? It would have been so much easier to have rebuffed Mulder. 

"The man was very fortunate that his neighbors were complaining about the noise."

"The noise?" Skinner looked puzzled.

"Yes, from the television." The doctor answered his inquiry with the minimum amount of information. Skinner suspected that the doctor was holding out on him, giving him just enough of the story to drive him crazy. He wished that he could toss this guy into an interrogation room and beat the story out of him. Use some of those muscles he worked so diligently on for some productive purpose. Three nights a week and Saturday's at the FBI gym, and for what? To push papers around?

"The television?"

"Yes, the older gentleman living next door called the police complaining about the loud noises. Baywatch, I believe."

Baywatch. He hated that show. Worse, it was Mulder's favorite. He'd come over after work and turn it on. There was some damned cable channel that ran it 7 days a week, 2 or 3 times a day. Baywatch. Who wrote that garbage? All those shots of tanned, toned bodies romping in the surf, filmed in slow motion. And what was worse was what it did to Mulder. By the time the show was over he was so, so... horny. It could really get ugly. There was the time that Mulder had made him dress up like David Hasselhoff and "rescue" the silly boy in the bathtub. God, he hated that show. 

'Help! help! glub! glub,' Mulder would yell. God he hated that show. '...save me, save me!...' It was horrible. 'I need mouth to mouth...' The acting was atrocious. '...please, I need a big strong lifeguard!' Ridiculous. '...help, help!'

Coming back to reality, Skinner listened quietly while the doctor continued his explanation. As the story unfolded, he let out a deep sigh. This was getting ugly again, and he didn't even know who it was, who was bitten by a rattlesnake. What would a rattlesnake be doing in Washington, D.C. anyway?

"But luckily the police did find the man's pet."

"His pet?" Skinner looked shocked by the seeming non-sequitur.

"Um, yes. His pet. The rattlesnake."

"His pet?" Skinner wanted to bang his head against the wall. God was playing some cruel joke on him again.

"Well, yes. 'Dana' I think is what he called it. He was reluctant to tell us at first, but eventually most of the story came out. The pain was overwhelming."

Pain. Skinner knew pain. He was experiencing it at this very moment. Lots of it. "Dana?"

"Dana."

"He was bitten by a rattlesnake named Dana?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In his apartment."

This was turning into a bad Three Stooges movie, but so far there were only two stooges, himself and the doctor. Unless you counted the mystery patient. The Three Stoogies, would that make him Curly, he wondered. 

"Where?"

"The emergency crew found him in his apartment, collapsed on the floor next to the television. 'The Best of Baywatch' was in the VCR."

"Is there anything else?" Skinner couldn't take much more of this. 'The Best of Baywatch' he hoped Mulder didn't find out about that particular tape, there'd be no end to it. He could just imagine it, every night watching 'The Best of Baywatch.' Followed by 'The Rescue.' He could hear Mulder's words coming from the bathroom... 'help, help, glub, glub.' Oh lord, no!

"Well..." The doctor hesitated, for what seemed like the twelfth time in the past fifteen minutes.

"Well?"

"There is the matter of his, um, state of dress at the time."

"His state of dress?" The doctor was doing it again, spooning out information one tiny detail at a time. What Skinner would have given to be in that interrogation room. "Can you be more specific, doctor?"

"He was naked," the doctor deadpanned.

"Naked?" the FBI director closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

"Yes, that was his condition when the crew found him in his apartment."

"Is there anything else?"

"Well...." 

Another hesitation by the doctor. Skinner balled his hands into fists. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard himself say, 'woob, woob, woob'. He wondered if the doctor would try and poke him in the eyes or bonk him on the head.

"It's just a matter of where he was bitten."

"Where he was bitten?"

"Yes." 

Skinner felt the vein in his forehead pulsing. In another few seconds it would explode.

"He was bitten in an area that one would normally assume would be covered. Especially in the presence of snakes."

He was starting to go sick in the stomach. "May I see the patient, doctor?"

"He's right through here, sir." The doctor pointed him through the doorway to his right. He was now a jumble of nerves. Walking stridently, he passed by the doctor and pushed open the door. The room was dark, but he could see the man laying meekly in the bed, all sorts of tubes and monitoring cables coming out of his body. There seemed to be a large number of them concentrated on the area between the man's legs. Skinner focused on the man's face. Even in the dimly lit room he could still see the man's burnished auburn hair. A small light from the headboard seemed to give the hair a strange glow, as if his head was on fire, inflamed from the snake venom that coursed through his veins.

"Hello, Agent Pendrell, I see we've had a little accident again."

Relieved not to find Mulder laying there, Skinner took up position in the small chair next to the bed occupied by the embarrassed FBI lab technician. Nothing he could say would ease the pain the man was feeling, nor chase away the embarrassment of the situation. 

Pain. Pendrell wasn't the only one in pain. Skinner was in pain too. Putting it all in perspective, he now realized how much he missed Mulder. After all, he'd spend the whole of the night thinking and worrying about the younger man.

So, he would do his duty here, make sure that Pendrell was alright and then head for home. He'd stop by the all-night video store on the way and rent 'The Best of Baywatch' and then go home and wait. For Mulder. And the rescue. Maybe they could try that mouth-to-mouth resuscitation thing again. As they always say, practice makes perfect. That's what he and Mulder needed, just a little practice at rescuing each other. Skinner was glad he'd answered the phone. Glad he'd answered Mulder's call.

\----------

Inspired by page 113 in the November issue of Men's Health magazine.   
email:   
web: http://members.tripod.com/~Lopsided


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